Garden of the Light

by Grace Gardener

  My blog address is gracegardener.wordpress.com where you can leave a comment.

  My email address is gracie.gardener@gmail.com - please only use that as a last resort.

  As I wrote Babble On my peops (my Angels) told me something would happen that would get the book noticed. My amnesia left as soon as Babble On was published, and I realized that was something. God’s a pretty smart guy!

  Detours may lead to new discoveries. gg

  Epilogue -

  I’m including this story of Basement Lightning and Thunder because it has been cult Legend for twenty years. I think it’s time people who do not worship the Black get to hear these stories. Satanists keep these stories private because they don’t want the world to know people like me and my daughters exist. It’s time to bring these stories out of the dark basements and into the light. I saved it for last in case you’re squeamish about reading about Satanic rituals. Remember we can’t conquer evil if we see no evil. Our refusal to recognize evil puts evil at a distinct advantage.

  It’s not a terribly gory story. I hope you’ll find it uplifting.

  This picture was taken 9/2/2012.

  This Story happened twenty years ago.

  Basement Lightning and Thunder

  This story of the Lightning and Thunder in the Basement of Deeta’s home, which doubled as her church, is another story that Deeta said was legend among Satanic Churches.

  Another Miracle - Another Mystery

  Some years after I went to Heaven, I was sitting and talking with Ralph, Deeta's husband, in the basement of their home, the same basement I was taken to after waking up dead. Part of the basement was cordoned off with sliding floor to ceiling panels. Lloyd and I had been invited to Deeta’s fiftieth birthday party. I could hear Lloyd and Deeta talking upstairs. I could only pick up a word or two of the conversation but plans were being made and something was very wrong.

  "They're going to kill me aren't they?"

  Ralph just looked at me. If he said anything he would be killed, too.

  "Is there any way out of here?"

  Ralph glanced at the stairs that led to the kitchen where Deeta and Lloyd stood planning my murder.

  “I mean any way from here. Anyway out through the basement -- a window or something?"

  Ralph shook his head no. The doorbell rang. It was more guests for her birthday party.

  Deeta yelled down the stairs, “You stay there. Drink your drink. I don't want you to meet my other guests. Stop talking to Ralph. I made that drink special for you. It's my birthday and I want you to drink it."

  My Angels told me if I went upstairs I would be stabbed. If I stayed and drank the orange soda I would probably be killed, too. ‘We’ll do our best,’ they said.

  My health was an issue; I was quite ill all the time and very weak. I suffered for thirty years -- a victim of Lloyd’s drugs, suffocations, electrocutions and torture. The symptoms I developed from the years of continuous abuse mimicked multiple sclerosis. Getting stabbed would hurt, I reasoned, and there would probably be a fight. Either way I would die. I could usually figure a way out of these situations. My guardian Angels were eerily silent that night. So I stayed.

  After the roofies, that were in my orange soda, took effect, Lloyd went back home to get our daughter, Liberty.

  Her birthday party got underway in a torture chamber in Deeta and Ralph’s basement. They had sliding doors made of paneling that hid torture equipment including gurneys with straps on "altars" on pedestals raised high enough for partygoers to see the torture and anticipated “sacrifice.”

  First Ralph was tortured to find out what I told him. Once they realized I knew I was going to be killed; that was a green light for them to do exactly that and still get my soul. They felt that since I knew I’d be killed, that’s the same as suicide, and in their “church” people who commit suicide go to Hell.

  Since Deeta was the cult princess she was able to order any type of sacrifice or torture for her birthday. This was her 50th birthday. That’s a milestone in any satanic cult. Satanic cult creatures rarely live to the age of 50. Any minor transgression is reason for a death sentence. You can’t leave a cult except by murder - either you have to murder someone to get out or you have to be “sacrificed.” Age 55 is also an important age because that’s when obsolete cult members will be sacrificed. If you’re one of the higher-ups in the cult your 50th birthday is extremely special. Deeta was turning 50.

  Deeta loved the way Lloyd and my daughter, Liberty, screamed. Since I never screamed during torture, which was an ongoing irritation to Deeta, she ordered a double torture, where it was her hope and desire that if something went wrong she could then kill me. She would make sure something went wrong. Her minions were expecting a sacrifice. It was her feeling that if I were allowed to hear my daughter's scream the way she screams during torture sessions, then I might want to do something about it and that would be wrong! And a “reason” to kill me.

  One of the drugs the cult uses puts the person in a mild coma. A combination of drugs made me aware of what was going on around me but powerless to do anything about it and I would be unable to remember it the next morning. I felt like I was dreaming. It was a familiar dream where my whole body was in terrible pain and there were several people surrounding me, taunting me, and no one would ever help me. Sometimes in these dreams I could hear the voice of my husband, or Deeta, or one of my friends, but they never helped me. I never spoke or screamed during the pain. It wouldn't have done me any good, anyway, since Deeta and Ralph had double soundproofing put in their basement, my screams would just be for the cult’s enjoyment. As the torture increased and the pain worsened, my soul’s light grew brighter, bigger and more intense.

  This time, since it was her 50th birthday, and my torture was for her pleasure, they decided to give me a third shot of a pain inducing medication used for torture by the CIA and Army Intelligence. One shot generally induced enough pain to get almost anyone to talk. Two shots are used on the tougher criminals who are alleged to have information. If someone doesn’t talk after two shots of this drug the interrogation is generally stopped because an additional shot can cause seizures, strokes and heart attacks and in that state the prisoner is rendered helpless and unable to talk, so a third shot is useless. But since they weren’t trying to get information, and since it was her birthday, the decision was made that the risk was acceptable and the third shot was to be administered in hopes to, at least, get me to scream - and hopefully die. This is the preferred method of torture for the most evil cult members who do something to endanger the cult. Deeta told me the most hardened rapists and murderers scream for mercy during this torture and then most of them invariably die of heart attacks and strokes.

  While they were preparing the third shot I could hear someone else screaming in the background. ‘Someone else is in pain. As much pain as I’m in,’ I thought. I wondered where I was. ‘Perhaps I’m in the hospital.’ The screams came into better focus and I realized it was my daughter, Liberty, who was screaming. ‘Perhaps we’d been in a car accident and Liberty and I were badly hurt?’ Liberty sounded like she was in agony and I decided to try to get to her. I knew it would take all my strength, since I was writhing in pain from the two shots I had been given, but I decided I needed to try.

  Liberty was about fourteen years old and had been brainwashed kill me. She had been the sweetest, kindest, most wonderful child in the world, but she had been furious with me on and off for some time now. Liberty had been abducted and tortured on an almost monthly basis since she was a month old but still the light of her soul would not go out. Liberty's soul had been slated to be delivered to Satan even before she was conceived in a rape ritual, so it was imperative for her soul to turn black. If a soul doesn’t turn black by the time the child is nine years old, the child is then encouraged to kill a parent or someone else and then kill herself out of guilt. The cult implanted memories into Liberty that accused me a doing terrible thi
ngs to her. It was not only distressing but extraordinarily confusing to me to be accused of crimes like rape; or even to be accused of simply screaming or calling my daughter names and acting in ways I never acted. The cult routinely told Liberty her mother didn’t love her or hated her and wanted her dead.

  Liberty's soul was white. It shown a pillar of bright white even when she was born.

  Now Liberty was screaming in the darkness. She was screaming for help at the top of her lungs. She was screaming for her mother to help her.

  So I decided to try to get to Liberty, even though I was in staggering pain and I couldn’t see. Just as I started to move I felt the sharp pinch of a needle jabbed into my side. Within seconds the pain was even more excruciating. The pain felt as bad to me as the screams of my daughter sounded. I could feel my heart jump and sputter. I could feel every muscle in my body spasm. My skin, my eyes, my teeth, my bones, even my hair hurt like I was on fire and there were knives stabbing me.

  "I'm coming, Liberty," came out as a mutter rather than a call. Immediately the demon swine rushed to Liberty's side and told her, "Your mother will never come for you. Your mother hates you. She wants you to suffer."

  I heard this and moaned loudly trying to say they were liars.

  "She doesn't like that," Deeta clapped and gleefully announced, "Say it again."

  "Your mother hates you, she loves to see you suffer," they taunted the young girl.

  "No!" Then I tried to get up through the pain but found my arms were strapped to the table where I lay. My light glowed and swelled and temporarily blinded a few Satan followers.

  "She can't get to her. She can't be allowed to get to her," Deeta demanded. "She's done it. She's gone against my wishes. She has to be destroyed.” Deeta was terrified of the expanding light and the growing commotion in the room. “She can't be allowed to get to her. Give her the fourth shot."

  "But that will kill her." Lloyd said pointedly.

  "That's what I want. It's my birthday. That's what I want. She wants it, too. Remember she told Ralph she thought we would kill her." That was the end of the argument. Lloyd always gave in to Deeta. Deeta had told me the prince of a satanic cult is supposed to be the strongest member; but in this north New Jersey cult the strongest member was the princess.

  I felt a needle stab my side, the feeling was almost imperceptible, but it was a pain different than the pain I was already experiencing. I was aware of the conversation that preceded the jab and realized this shot meant death.

  My heart turned to granite inside my chest. The rock grew. It filled my chest. I could no longer feel my heart beat. It had been jumping and doing back flips with the third injection, but now it was silent - entombed in stone. I could see the darkness get darker. I could hear people say I was dead. I remained in unfathomable pain. Even the rocks, now growing down my arms, were excruciating.

  In the blackness, to the left and in front of me, I could make out a door. The light that seeped through the cracks around it became slits of a vibrant, bright white. I knew instinctively if I went to the door and opened it, the pain would stop. I would be dead. The torture would be over. My life, to this point, was no picnic. I was sick all the time. My life centered on my children and my husband and for the past several years Lloyd acted as though he couldn’t stand me and my perception of my relationship with my daughters was faulty. I had been tortured many, many times before and sometimes during torture sessions I could remember other torture sessions. I knew this had happened before. I heard the doctor give a time of death. At this point I was exhausted beyond words and in pain beyond comprehension. Opening the door was extraordinarily tempting. I took a step toward it but then heard the anguished screeches of my daughter, Liberty. I found my hand on the doorknob. I thought, even if I tried my mightiest, I’d never make it to the place where the screams emanated. It sounded like she was eight or ten feet away and I thought I couldn’t possibly get that far. I heard the evil people tell my daughter, again, that I hated her and would never come for her. I heard my husband talk about where he would bury me, in some contaminated Army property in Sagewood, NJ. I heard him deny that there was a tear in his eye. I heard Deeta say that he would be killed, too, if there were. I heard Liberty scream for “Mommy!”

  I knew that because I couldn’t see and I couldn’t move, I probably couldn’t save her. I took my hand from the knob. I thought if in the morning my daughter found my dead body on the floor she would at least know I tried to get to her. Liberty would know I didn’t leave her. Liberty would know I loved her. She would know they lied.

  I brought my focus back to getting up and away from the door with the light. I knew my arm was tied down and knew it would be hard to break the tie so I rolled a bit to my left to try to get momentum enough to roll to my right and swing my arm up.

  “What was that?”

  “Oh that? That’s rigor mortis. I’ve seen it a million times before. Well not a million, maybe…” Lloyd paused trying to remember how many people he’d killed or helped kill.

  “So soon? I mean it’s only been, what, like five minutes or something?” Someone asked.

  “Oh yeah, it happens real quick.” Lloyd answered.

  “It starts happening immediately,” the doctor added.

  I realized that’s what the rock heart and limbs were. Rigor mortise or not, I was getting up to get to my daughter!

  I rolled back to the right and pulled at my arm as hard as I could. It was stopped by the strap, and every muscle in my body screamed and burned from the attempt.

  A piercing clap filled the air. I thought, ‘A whip? Now they’re going to start whipping me for trying to get up? I’ll have to get out of these straps, blind, crawl to Liberty with rocks in my chest and arms, in excruciating pain, all while I’m being whipped?’

  That wasn’t it.

  People screamed.

  “Oh my God!”

  “Don’t say that in here!” Even Deeta’s voice trembled.

  “What the fuck was that!”

  People ran out of the room. There were many more people in the room than I realized ‘None of them ever tried to help me?’

  A man screamed “She’s getting up!”

  “Aahh! Get me out of here!”

  What I’d heard wasn’t a whip at all: Deeta told me it was the crash of thunder. The piercing clap was accompanied by a bolt of brilliant white lightning that filled the cellar and temporarily paralyzed and blinded some minions.

  “What was that?” More swine screamed. More ran - some never to return. A few demon drones left the basement to see if it came from outside. It didn’t. The night outside the house was clear and dark and now filled with muffled squeals of swine people running scared.

  A young man shrieked, “She’s raised from the dead.”

  In the commotion I tried again to get up. With that Lloyd suffocated Liberty with a pillow, aware that it was Liberty’s screams that were prompting me to get to her. Someone told him that would kill her and reminded him it wasn’t Liberty who was slated to be sacrificed. Lloyd said it wouldn’t. He said he did it all the time. As soon as Liberty passed out Lloyd removed the pillow to allow her to breathe.

  “See, she’s fine,” he stated. Everyone of the members still left and watching him were impressed by his “power” and thought it was some kind of magic. It wasn’t.

  With Liberty passed out, I couldn’t continue to try to get to her. I couldn’t see, and without her screams to guide me, I felt, especially in my condition, rigor mortis and all, and with all the furor, it would be of no use to try. The few still at the birthday party were scared senseless.

  The torture was over. Even though I had no pulse, Lloyd administered the antidote to both of us. The needle broke twice going into me. He took no chances and brought both Liberty and I home and put Liberty in her bed and threw my heavy, stiff corpse into our bed.

  Liberty and I both woke up later that day feeling like we�
��d been hit by a fully-loaded, guided-tour bus.

  ++++++++++++++++++++

  Note: Please, please don’t search for the Dream: I’ll keep you posted as to ownership and availability. I’m not proud of that in any way. Those dream people infested my dreams since I was very, very young. I was, probably 2. The Satanic churches in the area felt I could be a potential threat to them. I was drugged and abducted from my bed, used in torture and rape rituals, I was always told what I was experiencing was a dream and while there were people in the dream, I couldn’t see them. I remember being vaguely aware of them, like furniture in the room. What happened in the video “The Dream,” I was so focused on Adam I didn’t notice them. As far as I knew we were alone and it was a dream; the best dream I’d ever had, but still a dream. This was yet another way my husband used me as a slave so he could give the money he made on me to his beloved princess, Deeta. In the meantime, if you see any torture videos or adult pictures of me on the internet please notify your local police and the FCC and have them shut down, because profits from those videos are used to fund mass murder, murder, torture, rape and child pornography. Thank you. God Bless You!